One afternoon, just a day after having sex with a new partner for the second time, I found myself hunched on my kitchen floor, a stinging pain throbbing inside me. The discomfort had begun just before I knew he was going to finish, and I recognized immediately what it meant—a couple of days of pain, exacerbated by a neurological condition I suffer from. Despite this, I had long been conditioned to ignore pain if it benefits men. I wanted this new guy to feel good, too. He left shortly after we finished, and I was left alone, grappling with the “rules of modern dating” that often interfere with what I need as a trauma survivor.
These experiences are not uncommon among sexual-assault survivors. Pain related to sex, regardless of its direct cause, can be a trigger, leading to isolation and fracturing otherwise positive relationships if communication breaks down. Sometimes, our bodies register pain from consensual sex as threatening, prompting fear of our own bodies. Physical pain can trigger a second wave of emotional pain that may be even more difficult to manage.
Understanding the Impact of Trauma on Sexual Health
The guy I was seeing knew about my trauma history. I had asked him to check in with me if we slept together, explaining that it made me feel safer. Whether or not a partner understands how trauma affects me can mean the difference between a positive sex life and total incompatibility. However, explaining the link between pain that wasn’t caused by violence and a trauma response can be challenging. If something was an accident, why should it bother me?
As I sat on the cold kitchen floor, I kept glancing at my phone, hoping for a text asking how I was doing. In a previous abusive relationship, I was punished for being in discomfort and “inconveniencing” my partner, leaving me afraid to bring up pain. I felt more comfortable sharing my pain if explicitly asked. My phone vibrated, and a wave of relief washed over me as I picked it up, only to freeze when I saw he was ending things.
The Emotional and Physical Toll
In the days that followed, I mourned the end of a potential relationship, the loss of someone I enjoyed being around. But what hurt the most was how vulnerable I felt, in pain from sex with someone who failed to recognize my needs despite my clear communication. I was literally on the floor with nobody to help me up.
For many survivors, pain during sex becomes intolerable. One survivor described how even slight pain during sex became unbearable after her assault. Another explained that experiencing intense physical pain during her assault made pain during sex a deal-breaker. Diagnosable disorders like vaginismus affect trauma survivors, but even accidental, one-off painful experiences can be triggering.
Reclaiming Control Through Self-Exploration
For me, pain related to sex but not necessarily during it can be just as triggering. After medical complications from getting my first IUD, I spent a night in the emergency room, thinking: I’m in this much pain because I decided to get birth control. This experience affected my decisions about sex for months. I stopped exercising, afraid of triggering pain, and any touch from my partner felt threatening—not because he wasn’t trustworthy, but because I didn’t trust my own body.
Many therapists recommend exploring sexuality through masturbation as a step toward sexual recovery and confidence post-assault. The idea is that before sleeping with someone else, one must first be comfortable with oneself. However, this isn’t always straightforward. I avoided masturbation for years, associating it with past sexual abuse. It wasn’t until after a breakup that I began exploring on my own, finding it a safe escape from potential trauma symptoms with new partners.
Redefining Sexual Goals
Over the years, I’ve noticed that my relationship with masturbation developed independently from sex with partners. The two are separate, not sequential. Pleasure alone for its own sake is worth pursuing and doesn’t have to be tied to readiness for partner sex. By honoring your relationship with your own body, you set yourself up for a better relationship with a partner—who hopefully has a strong relationship with their body too.
Some survivors restructure their approach to sexual pleasure, focusing on sustaining and increasing pleasure rather than reaching orgasm. While orgasm can be empowering, for some, the main goal is safety. If sex feels safe, it is good, regardless of satisfaction. Survivors get to set their own goals, and if safety is the main or sole goal, it is just as worthwhile as having an orgasm.
The Path Forward: Embracing Individual Journeys
The journey to finding pleasure after trauma is deeply personal and varies from one individual to another. For some, it involves redefining what intimacy means, exploring personal boundaries, and embracing self-discovery. For others, it may mean seeking professional guidance or joining support groups to share experiences and learn from others who have walked similar paths.
Ultimately, the path to healing and finding satisfaction in the bedroom is not a linear one. It involves understanding and respecting one’s own needs and limits, communicating openly with partners, and allowing oneself the freedom to explore pleasure on one’s own terms. By doing so, survivors can reclaim control over their bodies and experiences, paving the way for healthier and more fulfilling relationships.
